An Arm Slashed with Shame
by DeepSixing
Summary: [DH SPOILERS] [AU] A Snape story. The Dark Lord has requested a near impossible task. Bound by the Unbreakable Vow, help from Dumbledore is out of the question. And who is this first year girl with oddly familiar flowing red hair? Chapter Eight is up!
1. Last Minute Emergencies

**A/N: This used to be two chapters, but I combined them into one, seeing as how they were both short and had no point. A plot does unfold later, I promise. I sort of started writing without knowing where I was going, so I just wrote nonsense for two chapters. ...Not in a bad way, though. :-D  
**

**R&R!  
**

Snape sat in his office, writing. The only light was a small candle, flickering over his parchment and creating large dancing shadows on the stone walls. It was that time of year again. August 31. He always put his lesson plans to the last minute. Really last minute. He checked the clock on the wall. 2:36 am.

He set down his quill, stretching out his arms and yawning. He stacked his papers, and slid them to a corner of his desk. His desk was plain. It had no pictures on it. No fancy quill holders or organizers. All it had was three stacks of paper. Lesson Plans, Papers Going Out, and Papers Coming In. When school started, there would be two more piles: Graded and Un-graded. What else did you need a desk for?

Snape got up. He would add the finishing touches to his plans tomorrow. Blowing out the candle, he opened the door to leave. The door clicked shut, and Snape walked down the deserted halls of the dungeons to his bed chamber.

Most people would be terrified to walk down here at night. Or in the day, for that matter. It was completely dark, save for Snape's wand, and utterly claustrophobic. Every corridor looked the same, if you didn't know your way. There were no numbers or identifying elements on the doors, and they were all evenly spaced apart. There were picture frames in each corridor, but they looked identical, and the pictures in them liked to switch frames. The dungeons were intended to confuse people. That was why they belonged to Slytherin: The house of the cunning. You found your way by tricking the paintings into telling you, or making deals with them. One of the worst things a Slytherin could do was get on the bad side of one of the dungeon paintings. It was all about connections.

But Snape knew exactly where he was. Years and years of living here caused him to be able to get around these halls in his sleep. The potions classroom was right across from the main steps, which were the largest set of stairs. His office was right next to the classroom. Continuing along to the left, and there were two storage closets and the ingredients room, which was sometimes the third room and sometimes the second. You could always tell which because or the knight statue that stood across from the three doors. His hand would either have two or three fingers touching the sword on his waist, as though ready to unsheathe it.

Snape's bed chambers were deeper under the Lake, down another flight of stairs. They spiraled until they reached a wooden door with a painting hanging from it. It was a portrait of a man. He was rather plump, with a balding head of white hair. His eyes were grey and clouded, as though very tired. He smiled, though, and seemed fairly happy most of the time. Snape had no idea who he was, and had no intention of finding out. The first day Snape had arrived at Hogwarts for the first time to teach, the man in the painting had said, "Just call me Bert." And that was the last time they ever spoke, save for the asking and telling of passwords.

"Password?"

"Lily."

The door opened, and Snape entered. The room was dark, and Snape felt his way to his night table, lighting the tall candle that sat there. Now able to see, Snape walked over to his dresser and lit the candle on top of it. He opened the top drawer of the dresser and pulled out his night robes. He folded them over his arm and carrying the candle from the dresser, continued over to the bathroom. He dressed and readied for bed, then blew out the candle he was carrying and placed it back on top of the dresser. Then he pulled back the sheets of his bed, slipped in, and blew out his other candle.

It was his routine every night. It worked. And he didn't get a restful night's sleep without it, otherwise he would constantly think he was forgetting something.

The next morning, the entire school was buzzing. Teachers rushed around, preparing the school for the students' arrival; house elves were bustling about, cleaning and dusting; while all of the paintings were gossiping about the upcoming first years.

"I've heard Mullroy's daughter is coming." Snape heard one frame shout to another.

"Ah, a handful, that one. Good luck to the house that gets her." A group of men in the other frame laughed.

"Oh, Stephen Cornfoot is coming." A third fame whispered to his neighbor.

"Who's he?" The woman replied.

"Comes from a family of high class purebloods. Probably going to be in Slytherin…" The man huffed and fixed his jacket.

"He's a very bright boy, though. I wouldn't be so sure." The first frame called to him.

Snape tried to ignore them. All this shouted conversation and hissing whispers were giving him a migraine.

When he arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast, Snape found that the house banners had been put up, and the four tables were out. Each table had a colored table cloth, running along the middle of it like a long stripe. Snape spotted the Slytherin table on the right end. Completely empty, of course. The entire Great Hall was deserted, save for Snape and a few other teachers, who were eating breakfast as hurriedly as possible. It was a strange feeling, to be in such a huge room and know that within hours, this room would be filled to the max. Like the feeling one gets right before a large party.

Snape took his time to eat. He had no more preparing to do. He had finished his lesson plans, and posted a few notices on the corkboard in the common room. What else was there to do?

He never understood all this anxious frenzy. All the same, though, that excited feeling filled him as much as every other teacher. Only he didn't feel the need to act upon it by decorating his room excessively with flowers, and pictures, and stupid banners that said, "Don't put off till tomorrow what you can do today!" and "You never know until you try!"

The Potions classroom was equipped with everything it needed: Nothing. The students were required to bring their own cauldrons, textbooks, and parchment. The ingredients were supplied, but they were kept in the ingredients room. The classroom had a few rows of tables, and a blank desk in the front of the room, and that was it. No need for stupid banners to motivate the kids, surely Snape's happy disposition would be enough.

The day wore on slowly. Snape had long lengths of free time, interrupted every so often by a so-called "crisis." Usually he just had to mix some antidote for a pixie bite, or get rid of the boggart hiding in a decorative urn on the fourth floor.

The anxious air still milled about the castle, and it only grew as the light began to fade on the horizon. The students would be arriving soon.

"Severus? Oh, Severus, there you are!" Minerva McGonagall rushed up to Snape, who was sitting in the Great Hall, writing. "What are you doing, sitting around idly? The students will be arriving any minute!"

Snape did not look up from his parchment. "I am aware of that, Minerva. All of my preparing was finished around nine o'clock this morning." He lifted his head, making direct eye contact. "Surely the Deputy Headmistress would illustrate the same level of efficiency."

McGonagall heightened her posture and glared at him. "You know as well as I that there has been a lot of last minute emergencies that had to be attended to."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Oh yes, I forgot. What a tragedy, if every picture frame were not hanging at exactly ninety degrees."

McGonagall's face flushed, and she turned on her heel, hurrying down the aisle between tables and shouting, "At least I'm doing _something!_"

Snape smirked to himself, dipped his quill into some ink, and continued writing. He let out his breath, relieved that Minerva hadn't scanned his parchment. Blackmail material, at the very least, was on this page. Perhaps, then, he shouldn't have been writing in the Great Hall, but he only had this room to himself once or twice a year. He like the way the scratch of his quill echoed off of every wall. He felt as though every word he wrote was being announced to an entire congregation before him.

He wrote as a stress-reliever. He actually had quite a creative mind, though none would guess it. He used to paint, as well. As a young boy, he had painted every wall of his bedroom. It was no distinct picture, just a bunch of swirls and shapes and colors. When he had finished, the room was a beautiful blend of black, green, blue, and gold. They seemed to wave, flowing gently across his walls. It helped him sleep at night, when…

But painting was a thing of the past. As was his past. No need to dwell. He had no time to sit down and paint anymore. It took too long to prepare everything, took too long to paint, and took too long to clean up afterwards. Even with the help of magic.

Writing was much easier to do. And much more secretive. Imagine the laughingstock he would become if someone caught him painting! At least he could pretend he was doing work, or berate a person for being rude if they tried to read his writing. He kept his writing private, locked in his night table drawer, or tucked safely in his robes. Sometimes he wrote in a leather-bound book. Sometimes he wrote something quick on a loose piece of parchment. Sometimes he scrawled on scrap paper, often no longer than the first two knuckles of his pinky finger.

He wrote anything from three-line poems to novellas. They were all about love, loss, and loyalty. Hate, hope, and betrayal. Or any combination thereof.

Snape wrote to escape. He always had. This life was never good enough for him. Full of disappointment. Disappointment in others. Disappointment in himself. Making up new worlds was the best he could do. Worlds without disappointment.

Just then, there was a bustling outside. The teachers all rushed into the Great Hall, sitting down in their seats just as the doors to the Entrance Hall burst open. The familiar loud buzz poured into the castle. It filled every crack and crevice. Hogwarts was alive.

The students had arrived.


	2. Duo Corporis Secretum

**A/N: Yay! I've figured out a plot! Actually, a couple of plots! I think it's time to change the summary...**

**R&R and I'll give you cookies :-)**

After all the older students had taken their seats, the mob of first years made their way up to the front of the Hall. McGonagall led, as always, shepherding the children into two lines in front of a rickety old stool. In her left hand was the ancient Sorting Hat, in her right was the list of names.

"Ackart, Laurel." McGonagall called. The first years parted to let the child through.

Snape, who had been lightly dozing, glanced up at the first name to be called. When he caught sight of the girl, he nearly fell out of his chair. Red. Beautiful red hair. The same orange-red as…

He leaned in, trying to see the girl's face, but he could only see her back, shifting slightly upon the stool. Dumbledore, who was watching the Sorting and smiling, turned his head and caught Snape's eye. A moment of comprehension, and Dumbledore knew exactly what Snape was thinking. God, Snape hated that.

"Ravenclaw!"

Just then, there was a shooting pain in his left arm. He snatched his forearm, gripping it tightly. He held his breath, and tried not to make a sound or commotion. Snape got up from the table and quickly walked out of the Great Hall, following between the wall and the Slytherin table. When he finally reached the Entrance Hall, he let out his grunt of pain. Forcefully pulling back his sleeve, he watched the snake on his arm weave in and out of the skull's mouth. He began to breathe heavily. _Why now?_ He was not ready for this at all. There was nothing to report. He had done nothing to prepare! The Dark Lord was going to be disappointed, and he couldn't afford to be injured—mentally or physically. It was the beginning of term. The first night! How was he going to get out of being here? Or there? He knew Dumbledore would understand, but everyone else wouldn't. After a few more moments of internal arguing, Snape had decided.

He threw open the tall double doors, and ran outside. He followed the ridiculously long path to the Entrance Gates, and the second he was out of bounds, Disapparated.

Snape found himself in an open field. It was extremely silent; no signs of life anywhere. No houses, no lights, not even the sounds of animals. He looked around. Suddenly he spotted the black silhouette of a person approaching. The man did not seem to walk, but ominously glide forward, his robes whipping like black smoke behind him.

Once they were face to face, Snape spoke.

"Where are the others, Lord?" he asked, not feeling all that safe standing alone in a deserted field with the most dangerous man on the planet.

"I wished to speak only to you," the Dark Lord's voice was like the sound of water pouring into fire. "I have a request."

Snape bowed his head slightly downward. "Anything, my Lord."

"You have heard of Duo Corporis Secretum?

Snape's head shot up and his wide eyes met the Dark Lord's red ones. "The Draught of Two Bodies? My Lord, that potion is—"

"Very dark magic. Very dark, indeed. If you do not feel that you are capable, then I can certainly—" The Dark Lord turned to leave. Snape jumped, speaking quickly.

"I-I am perfectly _capable_, my Lord, although there are a few…major…problems. I have never actually mixed this potion before, only learned about in theory. It is quite disastrous if done incorrectly."

The Dark Lord smirked and bore into Snape's eyes. "Then perhaps it would be wise to not mess it up."

Snape bowed his head again quickly, and looked up. "Of course, my Lord, but even without any mistakes, the potion will take four months—at the very least." The Dark Lord put up his hand.

"I can wait. These plans will not be put into action until much later. That is why I am telling you about them now."

Snape paused. "And what are the plans, my Lord?"

The Dark Lord began to pace. "You know how—at least in _theory_—Duo Corporis Secretum works?"

"It creates a copy of one's body, able to be controlled by wand or mind."

The Dark Lord stopped and looked at him. "Exactly. Imagine the horror and confusion that would be brought about by _two_ Lord Voldemorts!"

Snape closed his eyes. "Ingenious, my Lord, however, there are still a couple of…setbacks." He looked in time to see the Dark Lord's eyes glint with anger. Snape spoke faster. "Two of the major ingredients are a recently dead human body, and a…a Horcrux of the one whose body is being reproduced."

The Dark Lord rolled his head, which seemed to be his equivalent of rolling his eyes. "I have a Horcrux." He pulled out a gold pendant. It was in the shape of a snake and completely studded in emeralds, except for the eyes, which were two blood red rubies. "And why is the body a problem? I have complete faith that you will find a suitable person and kill them when the time comes."

Snape felt his stomach tighten. He kept calm and said, "Of course. You're right, my Lord. In that case, I will get started on the potion straightaway."

The Dark Lord smiled. "Very good." He held out the snake pendant. "You must keep this with you at all times. Guard it with your life, or there will be consequences."

Snape nodded and took the pendant carefully. "I will, my Lord." He turned to leave, but the Dark Lord caught his arm.

"I hate to be untrustworthy," he said, smiling, "But I must err on the side of caution." The Dark Lord raised his wand. Snape braced himself, but nothing happened. Suddenly there was a pop, and Peter Pettigrew stood before them.

"You summoned me, my Lord?" Pettigrew asked, bowing uncontrollably.

The Dark Lord looked repulsed. "Yes. Would you please Bond us in an Unbreakable Vow?"

Pettigrew's eyes grew wide, as though this was the greatest honor he had ever received. He began bowing once more. "Yes, yes! Of course!"

Snape felt as though he had been thrown against a wall. His stomach was now tying itself into knots, and it took more effort this time to keep his face straight. The Dark Lord held out his right hand. Snape grasped it with as much confidence as he could muster. The Dark Lord's bony fingers were ice-cold and seemed to crush and cramp Snape's hand.

Pettigrew rushed in, placing his wand carefully on top of their linked hands.

"Will you, Severus Snape, keep what has transpired here to yourself, telling and or hinting to no one the plans discussed?"

Snape bit his tongue. "I will."

A red flame erupted from the end of Pettigrew's wand.

"And will you protect the object you have just received with your life, not allowing it to leave your possession?"

"I will."

A second flame.

They released hands. "Thank you Peter, that is all." The Dark Lord did not even turn to look at him, and said to Snape. "A meeting will be held soon." And he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.

Snape stood alone in the dark field, wondering how his poor life could be thrown into terror so often, so quickly, again and again.


	3. A Death Eater's Priorities

**A/N[[Gives cookies to reviewers Thank you! I know this chapter is a short one...I'll try to make the next one extra long! **

**R&R!**

**P.S. I edited the previous chapter. Nothing big--I just didn't like how Voldy acted.** **Re-read it if you want, but no plot lines were changed.**

**P.P.S I also re-edited this chapter. I came to find that it sucked. A lot. It probably still does, but I tried to fix it.**

**P.P.P.S. I combined the first two chapters, since they were both short and lacking a plot. Just so you know.  
**

Snape arrived back at the castle in time to hear Dumbledore announce, "And now, we feast!"

He snuck back to the teacher's table, riding along the wall and Slytherin table. He had not been sitting long, however, before Dumbledore approached him. "A word, Severus."

The two got up and walked into the Entrance Hall. Dumbledore cast a spell, keeping their voices from traveling into the Great Hall.

"What happened?" Dumbledore asked, staring at Snape's arm. Snape grasped it.

"The Dark Lord…wished to see me," he said.

"For what?" Dumbledore examined Snape's face.

Snape shut his eyes tight and spoke through gritted teeth. "I can't…tell you." He gripped his arm more tightly.

Dumbledore was quiet. "An Unbreakable Vow?"

Snape nodded, keeping his eyes shut as though in pain. He grasped his arm still tighter.

"There is nothing you can do," Snape said.

He stood up straight and, taking a deep breath, began to walk towards the Great Hall.

"Severus, if this gets out of hand—"

"It will." He continued walking.

"Severus, stop!" Dumbledore called.

"No."

"Listen to me!"

Snape's pale face suddenly filled with anger. He whipped around and approached Dumbledore. "_Listen to you? _Listen to _you?_" Snape was so tense he was shaking. "Y_ou_ listen to me." They were nose to nose. "A Death Eater's first priority is the Dark Lord. His second priority is himself. His third priority is his fellow Death Eaters, and his last is everyone else." Dumbledore stared at him. Snape bared his teeth. "You know what you are?"

"Severus, don't—"

"You are _everyone else_." He snapped. He turned on his heel and stalked away. "Listening to you is not my priority!"

"And since when were you a true Death Eater?" Dumbledore called.

Snape stopped. He turned his head back sharply and spoke. Every word was like the crack of a whip.

"You are meddling in territory that you _truly_ do not understand. You know nothing about my life; about what and who I am!"

"I know _plenty_ about your life!" Dumbledore interjected, his voice booming in the Hall. Snape closed his mouth. "I know _very_ well, who and what you are! More than most people, I daresay! Am I incorrect to say that I am the _only_ one who knows about Lily—"

Snape shut his eyes. "Stop it!"

"I am trying to help you, Severus, because I am the only one you have left to turn to. If you would rather go it completely alone, as you had years ago, _then go_! I can hire a new Potions teacher." Dumbledore turned and walked back into the Great Hall. _Why was it that he always got the final word?_ Dumbledore's voice seemed to ring, lingering like guilt in the air.

Snape had now completely lost his appetite. He felt weak, burdened. He stared into the Great Hall from where he stood. The students were all talking and eating, creating the familiar hum of life around the castle. The clank of silverware and the shrieks of laughter echoed all the way into the Entrance Hall.

He needed a distraction. Anything to take his mind off all this. Writing would be ideal. He had parchment folded in his robes, but no quill. Looking around the Entrance Hall, his eyes fell upon the Ravenclaw table through the open archway.

Snape scanned the table. Bright red hair. She was sitting with her back still to him. She was hunched down, eating her food slowly. There seemed to be extra space on either side of her. Snape noticed that the other students would glance at her and smirk. No one seemed to be talking to her.

Something wrenched in Snape's heart. He wanted to reach out to her. Tell her she wasn't alone. Tell her to stand up for herself, and all those kids were just stupid for making fun. The thought scared him. He hadn't ever felt that way before, especially towards a student. He didn't even know what the feeling was, exactly.

However, knowing the way his life was going, it probably wouldn't turn out well in the end.


	4. The Brown Eyed Boy

**A/N: I really really like this chapter. I hope you do, too! R&R Please! You have no idea how much I appreciate your thoughts on my writing!**

The rest of the feast was uneventful. Snape eventually returned to his seat at the table, hunched over a small bread roll on his plate. He buttered it and ate it slowly, killing time. A quick glance at Dumbledore told him that he should probably keep his distance for a while. When it came right down to it, Dumbledore would probably continue to give him the cold shoulder until Snape apologized. Another reason why Snape hated Dumbledore.

After the feast and closing remarks from Dumbledore, the Heads of Houses led their students to the common rooms. Snape stood at the front of the mob, instructing the prefects to take up the rear. He led them through the identical hallways, seemingly walking in circles. The first years, who were all clustered at the front of the group, had looks of confusion and nervousness on their faces.

Snape finally stopped in front of a blank wall. To anyone who didn't know better, it looked as though he had walked past the same wall ten times, only to finally stop in front of it. The first years were completely puzzled.

Normally, before allowing the students to enter the common room, the Head would give a short welcome speech. Snape's was short and sweet. The same thing every year. Older students smirked in recollection as Snape spoke, the words spilling out of his mouth at a hundred miles per hour.

"I am Professor Snape and you will refer to me as such. Do not even think about setting a toe out of line for punishment is to the highest degree. I do tend to favor students in my house over others; however letting it get to your head would not be in your best interests. Behind this wall is your common room—y_ou do remember how you got to this spot?_" The first years were completely bewildered. They stared at each other, horrified. Some turned around, looking for the direction in which they had come; others just looked at Snape, wide-eyed and confused. Snape continued, smirking. "Good. It would be unfortunate if you didn't, seeing as how similar these halls are. I am glad you've all been gifted with an impeccable sense of direction." Then he turned on his heel and walked away, his robes whipping behind him. He smiled as the terrified mutterings began. He might have even heard one child begin to cry. This would be a good year.

Arriving back in his office, he lit a fire in the fireplace and a few candles on his desk. He pulled out the snake pendant from his robes. He looked at it closely, but found nothing more then he had before. Gold, emeralds, and rubies. How could such an ordinary object contain so much evil and darkness? The knot from before returned to his stomach. Snape pulled out his leather-bound book. He opened it, finding a clean page and running his finger along the middle to crease the paper down. He pulled out his favorite quill. It was completely black, except for one streak of emerald green near the top. He dipped it in ink and began to write, pouring his soul across the dry yellow paper.

_Black darkness,  
Like thick nothing.  
A mouthful of emptiness.  
The taste of revulsion.  
An arm slashed with shame.  
Worn as a scar, a mark.  
A dark mark.  
Binding, unyielding, forcing.  
A mark with no escape.  
Unwilling, unforgiving, intense.  
No escape. Bound forever.  
Thrashing, gashing, violent.  
So painful. There is no escape.  
Killing, murdering, temptation.  
No escape, no escape.  
Celebration, betrayal, initiation.  
Cannot see, cannot breathe, cannot feel.  
Dedication, humiliation, lies.  
Miles and miles of lies.  
Deep, weaving lies.  
Too many lies._

Snape paused, rereading his work. The anger he felt had simmered. The knot in his stomach had unwound. He set own his quill. He knew the poem was unfinished, but his work was done. He wrote to feel better, not to finish. The feeling he had when he wrote was gone; he had no desire to write more.

Snape flipped back the pages of the book, opening to the first page. He had gotten this book years and years ago, and had undone the binding many times to add more paper. But this first page was from long ago, written in sloppy, scratchy handwriting. His handwriting had improved since then, getting larger and less squished together.

The page contained a short story. A very short story. Just three sentences.

_A thin, pale boy once fell in love with a beautiful, red-haired girl, and she did not love him back. However not even the knowledge that she would never be his could stop his feelings for her.  
Love is cruel._

He read the story, and re-read the story. The image of the red-haired Ravenclaw popped into his head. He had not yet seen her face, but he was sure she looked like Lily. He could already see it. Her soft skin, light freckles, and stunning green eyes. A slight chill went up his spine. Just to see her face, one more time…Lily…

Snape unfolded his class schedule. Tomorrow he was teaching first year Slytherins and Gryffindors in the morning, and fifth year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in the afternoon. First year Ravenclaw Potions was not for two days. Well, he had waited more than fifteen years to see her face again. He could wait two more days.

He moved to get up from his desk when his eyes fell upon the snake pendant. He picked it up carefully, sliding his fingers along the emerald scales, vowing to get started on that potion first thing…tomorrow.

Snape blew out his candles and put out the fire. Then he lit his wand, and began his journey through the dark dungeon corridors.

All of a sudden there was a shuffling and a small whimper. Snape wheeled around and found himself shining his light in a terrified first year boy's face. He was small, and had short mousy brown hair that fell limply on the top of his head. His eyes were big and brown with long eyelashes, and his long, thin mouth chattered at he stared up at Snape.

"Please sir, I—"

"Got lost," Snape sneered. "Yes, that's what they all say."

"No, really, please..." The boy seemed scared out of his wits.

Snape stared down at him. The boy's eyes grew even wider, and began to fill with tears. Snape rolled his eyes and grabbed his arm. "Oh, let's go." He dragged him through the halls. "You had better be paying attention this time, because I will not chaperone you to the common room every night." They stopped in front of the blank wall. "Now would you like me to tuck you in as well, or can you handle that yourself? Perhaps you would like me to change your sheets after you've wet the bed—"

The boy had burst into tears. Snape looked up at the ceiling and counted to ten. He turned to the wall. "Billywig." A door appeared, and Snape opened it, pushing the boy inside. "Don't let me catch you roaming the castle after hours again." And he slammed the door in the sobbing boy's face.

Once again in a bad mood, Snape stomped all the way back to his bed chamber, wondering why he had ever accepted a job that involved working with children.


	5. Where Your Loyalties Lie

**A/N: I'm going away for a week :sob: I will try to continue writing, but I won't be able to post the chapters on here** **:-(** **Hopefully when I get back I'll be full of fresh ideas!**

** I liked this chapter somewhat. I'm having a lot of trouble capturing Dumbledore's character. I can't figure out why. I know that he acts differently around Snape than Harry...but still. He seems so off to me.**

** Any constructive criticism is welcome, as always! R&R!**

**See you in a week!  
**

Snape woke up early, skipping breakfast and going straight to the library. He knew there probably wouldn't be any book that he would find useful, but he checked anyway.

The library was empty, and completely silent. He entered the Restricted Section, searching for any dark magic potions books. He spotted one, pulling it off the shelf and flipping through it on one of the round reading tables. It was fairly light stuff, though. It did mention Duo Corporis Secretum, but all it said was that it was "very dark, very advanced magic that should only be performed under safe conditions when fully prepared." Not of any help to him. He already knew that. And would be disregarding it.

Snape left the library after a half an hour. He had tried to waste time, but it was no use. The books he was searching for could not be found here. Snape knew where they would be. He silently groaned, but quickly walked down the halls.

"Raspberry Fudge." The large stone gargoyle stepped aside, and Snape went up the spiral staircase. When he reached the top, he knocked lightly on big wooden door.

"Come in," a voice called.

Snape pushed open the door and found Dumbledore sitting calmly at his desk. He stared up at Snape, speaking formally.

"Is there a problem, Severus?"

Snape bit his tongue from shouting any obscenities. He glared at Dumbledore and spoke through gritted teeth. "I apologize for my actions. They were out of line. I-I need your help."

Dumbledore leaned in and turned his head to the side, putting a finger behind his ear. "What was that last part?" He was clearly trying not to smile.

Snape bit his tongue harder. "_I need your help._"

Dumbledore smirked. "Whose help?"

Snape rolled his eyes and threw his arms up. "Oh, please. How old are we?"

Dumbledore smiled. "All right, all right. What may I do for you?"

"I need to see your books on Dark Magic."

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes vanished. He was quiet for a moment, then he spoke. "Severus, I have been thinking about your situation and I have a bad feeling about this. Perhaps…perhaps you shouldn't do this."

Snape looked at him, uncomprehending. "What else is there to do?"

Dumbledore was quiet. He met eyes with Snape and then looked down at his hands. Understanding washed over Snape like a crashing tidal wave: Dumbledore wanted him to sacrifice himself, instead of fulfilling the Vow.

"No. _No_. You don't understand. There has to—I'm sure there's another way. I can't—please." Snape was so frustrated he could hardly speak. "This…this isn't—fair."

Dumbledore stared at him, unsmiling. "No, it's not—but what else is there to do? I am not happy with this alternative, Severus, but if nothing is done, the end result of all this could be devastating." Dumbledore was quiet again. "It is time to choose where your loyalties lie."

"There has to be another way—"

"If you can figure out another alternative, I will support you. Because of my lack of information, I cannot be of any more help to you, as of now. I am out of ideas." Dumbledore stared into Snape's eyes. "I am sorry, Severus. Truly."

Snape turned and walked out of his office without another word. He flew down the halls, pushing people out of his way. _How could Dumbledore think that? Did he really think he would just sacrifice himself for the 'greater good'? Did Dumbledore not remember that he didn't really give two flips about the rest of the general public? It was all about himself and Lily. And her arrogant son._

_Where his loyalties lie... _

_But he didn't want to go back to the Death Eaters permanently. It was a scary thought, though at one time he had enjoyed it. The guilt from the memories of those days was too much. Knowing that he was working against them was only a small compensation for what he had done. He could not go back to them now._

He made his way back to the dungeons for his first class of the year. Throwing open the classroom door, he found the most of the students had already taken their seats. Snape slammed the door behind him and flew down the center aisle, twisting around sharply to face them.

"Quills out. Write down the following ingredients and instructions." Snape flicked his wand and notes appeared on the blackboard. "Be sure to copy them _exactly_. When mixing potions, the slightest mistake can be…deadly." He eyed each student in turn, pacing the room. They stared back at him, completely stiff. Snape stopped. "_Well?_ Get writing!" The students all began to shuffle through their bags, pulling out quills and parchment. A soft muttering filled the room, growing louder. "No talking!" Snape snapped. The muttering ceased. Snape sat down at his desk, listening to the sound of the quills scratching.

He closed his eyes, resting his head in his hands. _There had to be another way. _He needed help. He couldn't do this on his own. He never could do these things on his own. Dumbledore had always been one jump ahead, he always knew what to do. Snape needed to find a way to tell Dumbledore the plans. Surely there had to be a loophole to the Vow…

A soft shuffling. Snape opened his eyes and looked up. It was the brown eyed boy.

"This had better be important," Snape said, sighing.

The boy looked even more frightened than he had the night before. "I-I just wanted to s-say I'm sorry about last night. It w-won't happen again."

"Lovely. Go sit down."

The boy was clearly disappointed, and lingered by his desk a moment. Snape raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

The boy seemed to consider saying something, but decided against it. "Nothing, sir," he mumbled, and shuffled back to his seat.

Snape watched him walk away. He reached into his robes and fingered the snake pendant. _No, no. A full grown body needs to be used…It was a nice thought, though._


	6. Let It Be A Lesson

**A/N: I'm back! I wish I could have made this chapter longer, but I must admit I got stuck with a bit of writer's block and had to start improvising again!** **Don't worry, the chapter very much has a point. I just had to get myself going again. Anyway, here's the next chapter! Hopefully I'll write another one soon, to make up for my lack of a long one! R&R**

After his first dreadful potions class, Snape hurried into his office. He took out the snake pendant and slammed it down on the table. He stared at it, loathing.

That shimmering green 'S' was the like the weight of all his problems, combined into a small piece of jewelry. He rested his arms on his desk, leaning over the pendant. He looked down, forcing himself to think logically.

Snape began to mutter to himself, repeating the words of the Vow.

"_Will you, Severus Snape, keep what has transpired here to yourself, telling and or hinting to no one the plans discussed?"_

He must not tell or hint at the plans. Tell or hint. What if…?

_No, it really couldn't be that simple…_

What if he _showed_ Dumbledore the plans? It would not be a hint, for the entirety of the plans would be laid out; and it would not be telling, for it would be described through images, not words.

It was risky to attempt it, without being sure. But if his only alternative was to die anyway, why not try?

Snape opened the closet door in his room. He rummaged all the way into the back, moving over old papers and cabinets and picture frames. Finally, he reached the back wall, where a dusty old easel leaned, feebly. He carefully grasped it and carried it out, setting it up in the corner of his room. The three legs creaked and rocked dangerously.

Pulling open a drawer in his desk, Snape pulled out a long piece of canvas. He centered it on the easel, making sure it was tight and steady. Then he searched for his palette, eventually finding it underneath some books in the back of his closet, along with his dried and leaking set of paints. His brushes were in his desk, lined up next to his quills, and his turpentine bottle sat innocently by his bottles of ink.

Snape stopped a moment, sighing and catching his breath. God, he hated painting. Preparation took forever.

He laid the wooden palette on his desk, opening up his five tubes of paint. Scarlet, Navy, Maize, White, and Dark Burnet. With those colors, he could paint anything.

Snape pushed his desk chair in front of the easel. He dragged his brush between the globs of paint, sloppily mixing the colors together. Then he began to paint. He pulled the brush across the canvas, creating thick, textured lines. It was sloppy, but he needed to get this done quickly. As long as the message was illustrated, he was fine.

He sat for about two hours, painting. He skipped lunch, which most of the students and teachers were at right now. He only had a half an hour before his afternoon class.

Snape hurriedly added the finishing touches, then sat back to examine his work.

It was a collage-like painting, with blends of green and black connecting the realistic images. In the center were two Voldemorts, connected at the hip. Across the top was a cauldron, smoking and bubbling around an acid-green potion. Next to the cauldron was a man, sprawled on the floor, dead. Just out of the man's reach was a gold and emerald snake pendant with red ruby eyes.

Along the bottom of the painting was a picture of Snape from behind. He was hunched over a potions book, his finger pressed against the pages as though reading ingredients.

Now, he just needed a way to show Dumbledore the painting, without causing himself to _hint._

All of a sudden there was a knock at the door. Snape stiffened. A soft shuffling.

Casting a disillusionment charm upon his easel, Snape went to the door. He had a hunch as to who it might be.

The door swung open, and the brown eyed boy stared fearfully back at him. Snape glared at him. "_What?_" He hissed.

The boy's eyes grew wider. "I—I just…Well, everything here is so—so n-new…I—I'm really—nervous. I was…hoping that—that…well I…I just need someone to talk to is all…"

Snape felt as though someone had hit him in the throat. _Huh?_ Someone wanted to confide in _him?_ For a fleeting moment, Snape felt the urge to question the boy's sexual preference, but he found that to be a little _too_ below the belt. Even for him.

"I'm busy." Snape said, beginning to close the door on the boy. But then he paused. _Perhaps this boy could be of some help._ Snape slowly opened the door again. The boy, who had been looking down, sadly, gazed back up at him with his wide eyes.

"Do me a favor, and then we'll chat." Snape said, and he saw the boy grin for the first time. The sight made Snape want to go throw up. His lip curled. "Wait here." Snape closed the door on him. Inside his office, Snape lifted the disillusionment charm and cast a spell to quickly dry his oil paint. Then he took the canvas and put a complicated charm on it so that the paint disappeared, leaving only white.

Snape reopened the door, and shoved the blank canvas into the boy's arms. The boy looked up at him, confused.

"Take this to Dumbledore. Do not tell Dumbledore it is from me. Do not tell anyone what you are doing. The password is 'Raspberry Fudge.'"

The boy continued to stare. Snape's lip curled again. "Go!" The boy turned on his heel and quickly scurried away.

Snape watched him disappear, then went back into his office. He gathered up some papers and hurried out, escaping to his bed chambers. He sat a moment, wondering if his death would occur suddenly, or if he would be tortured for this betrayal. He wrote, hunched over his night table. No death came. Yet.

A half an hour passed. The boy must have long since given Dumbledore the painting. Hopefully this was a good sign. Snape left his chambers, hurrying to make sure he wasn't late for his class.

When Snape reached the classroom, he hesitated. The brown eyed boy sat, hunched down, with his back leaning against Snape's office door. His eyes were red and his cheeks were wet. The boy looked up, and he and Snape met eyes.

"I should've known you wouldn't come," The boy said. His voice was bitter, and much stronger than Snape had ever heard it.

"Let it be a lesson. People will only disappoint you," Snape said, and he swung open the classroom door, slamming it behind him.


	7. Just One Sip

**A/N: I seem to be getting writer's block a lot these days...I had to do more stream-of-consciousness writing. I actually kind of like how this chapter turned out, writing-wise, but I'm afraid it may be too intense, content-wise. I've changed the rating accordingly, however I think it is still a little much. I thought of editing it, but it would have meant rewriting an entirely new chapter. Tell me what you think...and be honest because I'm not too sure about it. R&R please please please.**

**P.S. This chapter was meant to be read slowly, as though time itself is dragging. Just a word of advice as to how to read it.  
**

Snape's second class ended at four o'clock sharp. He was not going to stay a minute later than he needed to. Hurrying out, Snape rushed into his office and locked the door.

He paced. At this point, all he could do was wait. He kept pacing. He fixed his eyes on the floor, watching the same scratches and knots in the floor pass his feet. _Surely Dumbledore would figure out his charm any time now. And when that time came…well that would be the moment of truth._

Finally, Snape sat down, pulling his chair up to his desk. He took out his leather-bound book and found the next blank page. Then he dipped his favorite black and green quill in his ink and touched the tip to the paper. He paused. _What was he writing, exactly? _He watched the ink bleed on the paper._ A death note? A letter of farewell? _Something sunk in the pit of Snape's stomach. A letter to whom? _There was no one he had to say goodbye to. No one who would truly care if he died, right here, right now. _Snape lifted his quill off the page. He did not have the urge to write anymore. He looked around at his dark room, full of dancing, candlelit shadows. Never had he felt so alone. Dumbledore was right; he had no one to turn to.

Snape turned his chair away from his desk. Resting his elbows on his lap, he put his face in his hands. And he wept. Quiet, soft sobs. _I'm going to die._ He breathed deep._ And I have no one who cares. _The pit of his stomach dropped further each time he repeated it. _Where had he gone wrong? He didn't even have friends. Was he really that awful?_ An image of the brown eyed boy appeared in his mind. He saw the fear in his stupid eyes. He saw him mouth the words "I needed someone to talk to," and the hurt and anger cross his face as he sat on the floor outside, just hours ago. Not even a single thought of remorse entered Snape's mind. He felt sick. _He really _was_ that awful.__ He deserved to die._

Snape sat with his head in his hands for a long time. He had stopped his tears, but he could not bring himself to move. New thoughts began to race in his mind. _Perhaps he should just kill himself, and save everyone the trouble. Maybe Dumbledore was right…He should sacrifice himself. _Snape looked around the room without raising his head. He stared at his cabinet of hazardous potions ingredients, where a bottle of monkshood oil was locked inside. _Just one sip…and it's all over. One small sip. Get up, Severus. Get up and drink it. There is nothing left in this world for you. _

Snape forced his head to look up, now staring straight at the cabinet. He fumbled to open a secret drawer under his desk, where a small bronze key was hidden. He picked it up, lifting himself out of his chair. He walked to the cabinet slowly, a fiery determination in his eyes. Stopping in front of it, he stared a moment at the peeling green paint, then inserted the key and turned. The lock clicked, and the sound seemed to echo for minutes.

He slipped off the lock and pulled open the small doors. They creaked, slightly startling him.

He found the monkshood almost immediately. The brown, oily substance licked the sides of the small bottle as it shook in Snape's hand. _Just one sip…Then everyone will be better off. _His thumb fingered the cork, plugging the liquid inside. _And you'll be with Lily…_Lily… Snape's hand shook harder. He pushed the cork out, letting it fall to the floor. Then, without a second thought, he put the bottle to his lips, throwing back his head and letting the bitter oil drip down his throat. It burned, but it would be over soon.

Seconds later, he was on the floor, staring at the little cork, listening to the empty bottle clink and roll away from his hand. Then everything was dark.

Then everything was white. Bright white. He felt a great surge of air fill his lungs. His chest heaved painfully. He coughed, spitting and sputtering. Then he heaved again. An ice cold liquid was running down his throat. It felt like a knife cutting him in half. He heaved again. Something was pressing on his stomach. He coughed, spitting up what tasted like blood. He fell back. More ice cold liquid. More heaving.

Then echoes. Voices. Panicked voices.

"Keep trying!" A male voice.

"It's no use!" A female voice.

"Oh, please let him be all right!" A second female voice.

"Has someone gotten that bezoar yet?" A second male voice.

"Here! Here!" A third male voice.

"It's about time! Hurry!" The second female voice.

Snape felt something hard and round enter his mouth. It was pushed back, almost gagging him, and then washed down with more icy liquid. The combination was unbearable. He heaved even harder, his back craning harshly and his face contorting. He thought he might split in half with pain. Then everything relaxed. All pain had stopped. The whiteness began to fade, and colors returned. Breathing heavily, Snape looked around as his vision adjusted.

Still only half-conscious, Snape saw the blurry profiles of Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Slughorn, and Lupin standing around him. Something told Snape that it was odd the last two people were here, but he couldn't seem to remember why that was. The group noticed his awareness, and let out a unanimous sigh.

"Oh, thank goodness."

"I thought for sure…"

"What a scare, that was."

Through the hazy images, Snape saw a tall white man come to the front. "We should let him rest," the old voice said. "He is not even fully conscious yet."

The others nodded in agreement, and then muttered farewells to Snape.

"Always knew you had it in you."

"Feel better, mate."

"Don't ever scare me like that again!"

"You're a lucky one…"

Snape saw a blurry Dumbledore lean down, and whisper in his ear. "We must speak as soon as you are well. I received a blank canvas earlier today…"

A little sprinkle of happiness, then all was black once more.


	8. I Quite Like It Here

**A/N: ((beats writer's block with a heavy lead bar))** **Why can't I think of anything?! There is nothing worse than staring at a blank word document, writing two sentences, deleting them, staring some more, writing the same two sentences, deleting them again, then walking away. It's like tangoing with your writing! **

** Well, anyway...This chapter is short, I know, I know. What can I say? I was stumped. I think I'll be having less difficulty once Snape is mobile again. What was I thinking, trying to kill him like that?! I must have been really sadistic the other night...**

**Please R&R, you know how much I appreciate it.  
**

Snape awoke with a start. He searched the dark with wide eyes. He couldn't remember where he was. All he knew was that his stomach was queasy, he felt unclean, and his throat burned. Moments later he shut his eyes, falling back into a deep sleep.

When Snape opened them again, it was sunny. He could finally see that he was, in fact, in the hospital wing. Recollection of what happened came floating peacefully back into his mind. He did not gasp, or cry out. The thought didn't scare or shock him. He felt completely numb to the memories.

He did not move for some hours. He just lay, wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling.

He could not pinpoint this blissful feeling, but he liked it. He didn't seem to have to worry about anything. He just had to lie there…

Madam Pomfrey appeared in the wing later that morning. Snape saw her walk to him. She moved her mouth, but he could not hear what she said. He saw her bring her hand to his head, but he did not feel it. She looked worried. Snape felt bad…he wanted to tell her he felt fine; to just leave him here. It was so nice here… But Madam Pomfrey hurried out of the room.

After what could have either been minutes or years, Snape saw Madam Pomfrey return, moving her mouth feverishly at a concerned Dumbledore. The sight of Dumbledore seemed to trigger something in Snape's mind. All of a sudden, sound returned.

"—seems to have lost all will to live." Madam Pomfrey spoke nervously. "Albus, you said that what happened had been an accident…Are you sure he didn't—"

"I am sure he did not try to kill himself, Poppy." Dumbledore stared her straight in the eye as he said it. "Let me have a moment with him. Thank you."

Madam Pomfrey left, and Dumbledore came closer to Snape's bed. Snape stared dimly to him. _Lost all will to live? That's ridiculous. It just feels so nice here…_

Dumbledore sat down in a chair, facing Snape. He leaned in, placing his hand upon Snape's arm. As before, Snape did not feel the gesture.

"Severus, can you hear me?"

_Yes, I hear you Albus. Come on, use that legilimens of yours._

He seemed to have understood, because Dumbledore leaned in, looking into Snape's eyes. Snape stared back.

_Severus, come out of this._

_No. I quite like it here. I am happy._

_Please, you must help me. For Lily's sake…For Harry…_

_That boy does not mean anything to me. I want to be with Lily._

_She would not be happy to see you, if you had abandoned her son._

_It doesn't matter; I just want to see her again._

_Isn't that a large price to pay, for such a selfish desire?_

_Leave me be. Or, perhaps join me. The feeling is wonderful. _

_I will go there in due time, Severus. As will you. Tell me, what can I do to get you to come back?_

_Give me Lily._

_I cannot do that. _

_Then I'm leaving. Goodbye, Albus._

_Wait. Wait! What about…what about Laurel?_

_Who?_

_Laurel…the red haired girl. _

_I…What about her?_

_You tell me._

_She is a student, Albus! What do you think I am…?_

_That is not what I mean, Severus, and you know that. I know that you feel a connection to the girl. Perhaps she feels the same way?_

_Perhaps._

_Why not find out?_

_It's so nice here…_

_You will be here again someday, I can promise you that. _

_But I…I want to…You don't understand._

_Oh yes, I understand very much. More than you could possibly know… But now is not your time. You will regret going, Severus._

…_Fine. Yes. I'll come back. But don't think I might not do this again!_

_To think that would be foolish, of course…_

_All right._

_Thank you._

_Mhm._

Snape shook Dumbledore's hand off his arm. "This had better be worth it." He felt awful again, lying on his back and feeling sick.

Dumbledore only smiled and left the room. Snape grunted, fidgeting in his bed. Madam Pomfrey returned a few minutes later, arms filled with medicine. Lovely.

After forcing down three bottles of the most disgusting liquid he had ever tasted, he finally fell back asleep.

When he woke up again, all the pain was gone. But he still felt lousy. Although, he had always known Dumbledore was just lying to get Snape to come out of it. Still, he fell for it. Perhaps he wanted to be here, after all…

The event did, however, rearrange his priorities. Now that Dumbledore knew the plans, he would leave that to him. He didn't care if he died now, anyway.

Snape's first priority would be to find that girl. Laurel. Picturing her beautiful red hair, he remembered her sitting alone that first night. Perhaps all she needed someone to talk to…


End file.
